


The Pre-School Romance of Eggsy Unwin & Harry Hart (As Told By Roxy Morton)

by Mintey



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintey/pseuds/Mintey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the romance between one Eggsy Unwin and one Harry Hart, as told by Roxy Morton, exasperated Kingsman-in-training, soon-to-be Lancelot, who swears she has not seen such pathetic behavior since the noughties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncle Percival

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are going to have a lot of focus on Roxy and the preliminary Kingsman training - there won't be much mention of Harry, save for a mentions of pining and relationship talk between Eggsy and Roxy, due to the idea that the Kingsman candidates "aren't allowed to discuss who proposed" them.
> 
> So, while this is a Hartwin story, it is from Roxy's point of view, and therefore will have heavy focus on Roxy.
> 
> At any rate, please enjoy, and feel free to correct me on any mistakes I may have made!

At the age of five, Roxy Morton wanted to be a ballerina. There was something that appealed to her about the sheer willpower and strength required to perform, concealed with beauty and grace to create elegant performances. She never got far enough in a conversation to explain this to any adults – no, they were far too occupied with cooing over an adorable little girl running around in a tutu. Except for Uncle Percival. Mind you, the tutu was courtesy of her parents who nearly forced little Roxanne into it, explaining that she couldn't be a ballerina without one. And, if Uncle Percival was the one to help her cut the blasted pink puffy thing to bits with safety scissors after listening to Roxy rant about it for twenty minutes, nobody was the wiser. The only noticeable change in the Morton household was that the scissors were moved to a slightly less accessible location.

At the age of six, Roxy Morton was enrolled in ballet school. She can recall being walked along the streets of London to the dance studio, her small hand clasped in her uncle's larger one, ballet shoes grasped in the other, excitedly chattering about the upcoming practice. This was the first time Roxy remembers deciding Uncle Percival was her favorite Uncle - he didn't patronize her like the other adults seemed to do, although she didn't quite know the word for it yet, and he allowed her to tell him her extensive knowledge of ballet, in detail, without interrupting. His position as "favorite uncle" was cemented when he bought her to see The Nutcracker live at Christmas time, an excursion she had to beg her parents to allow her to go on. To this day, she still has no idea how he managed to get tickets to the English National Ballet on such short notice, but now she figures it had something to do with his Kingsman connections.

At the age of nine, Roxy Morton no longer wanted to be a ballerina. Other girls' in the studio began to look down upon her for her slightest mistakes, and ballet practice brought pain instead of joy. At school, the ballet girls began to tease her, forming a clique and making plans without her. She can recall Uncle Percival and her parents asking her if she wanted to quit. Quitting meant giving up, and Roxy said no. The small, fond smile on Uncle Percival's face at her declaration only made her want to work harder.

At the age of eleven, Roxy Morton dropped ballet. More accurately, Roxy Morton was forced to quit ballet after her instructor gently pulled her parents aside to explain that "only the top students can continue instruction here," and that she was "holding the other students back." She remembers Uncle Percival storming out of the dance studio that day, his face remaining angry for the entire walk home. Roxy used to think he was angry with her for cutting her ballet career short, but after a recent evening spent with her Uncle, drinking to her newly cemented Kingsman position, he let slip the story of how he managed to get "the old hag fired, had it coming to her with an attitude like that."

At the age of twelve, Roxy Morton buried herself in school. Everything was fascinating; There was so much to be learned. Her teacher often scolded her for reading ahead, or for correcting his mistakes. Stubborn as a mule, Roxy refused to do so, landing her in the principal's office more than once. Her parents became concerned, and told her she needed a hobby. Roxy disagreed, and instead begged for a puppy. Her parents didn't want an animal messing up the house, so Roxy read up on every dog book she could get her hands on. She decided that if she ever got a dog, it would be a poodle.

At the age of thirteen, Roxy Morton ran into her Uncle Percival leaving a martial arts studio downtown. While she stood chatting with her Uncle, Roxy's eyes were drawn to the girls and boys inside. She was instantly enamored by their discipline and technique, and began to question her Uncle about the activity. Roxy returned home later that evening begging for lessons, and with Uncle Percival's persuasion, her parents reluctantly agreed.

At the age of fifteen, Roxy Morton was still taking martial arts lessons. It helped to channel her teenage frustrations, and she was good at it, too. Even Uncle Percival seemed impressed with her progress – more than once she had spotted him at her competitions, sometimes alone, other times with another man accompanying him. She never got to meet any of the men Uncle Percival referred to as his colleagues, but her interest was piqued by the well-dressed men.

At the age of sixteen, Roxy Morton spent a weekend at her Uncle Percival's flat. Her parents were out of town for the weekend, and they still didn't trust their "baby girl" to be alone for a few days. It was utterly frustrating, and she said as much to her Uncle. In an attempt to cheer her up, he took her to the arcade and followed willingly to every game she dragged him to – being it pinball or shooting games, the latter of which he failed to hide his shock when she bested him at. Roxy was beaming as she entered her high score into the game, smirking to herself when a boy passing by grumbled about her beating his record.

At the age of eighteen, Roxy Morton accepted her position at Oxford University to study Biology, her favorite school subject. She came home at the end of the year with top marks and several offers from professors to conduct research alongside them. Roxy refused all of them in favor of spending the summer in France with Uncle Percival, where she quickly picked up on the language with hardly any accent.

At the age of nineteen, Roxy Morton went skydiving for the first time. It had been her Uncle Percival's suggestion – she was looking for a weekend of fun with friends, but something more exhilarating than a trip to the movies. Standing on the ramp, at the drop zone, staring down at the toy-sized world below, Roxy nearly didn't jump. She had always been afraid of heights, and was questioning why she'd taken her Uncle's suggestion to take part in such a crazy activity, but fear of being left behind by her friends ultimately pushed her to take the leap.

At the age of twenty one, Roxy Morton was a prime candidate for Kingsman. Uncle Percival was sitting in the living room, in heated discussion with her parents, when she returned home for the evening. When Uncle Percival filled her in on the few details she _was_ allowed to know about the international agency, she was hardly surprised by her Uncle's admission to being part of a spy agency. She was, however, surprised that her parents agreed to letting her go with him.

And little did she know it yet, but at the age of twenty two, Roxy Morton would become witness to the most childish level of pining known to man.

This is the story of the romance between one Eggsy Unwin and one Harry Hart, as told by Roxy Morton, exasperated Kingsman-in-training, soon-to-be Lancelot, who swears she has not seen such pathetic behavior since the noughties.


	2. Eggsy Uniwn

Roxy follows Uncle Percival into the Kingsman shop and walks past the shelves full of fabric. She takes notice of the scissors, measuring tapes, and other potentially lethal objects unassumingly scattered throughout the floor space.

Uncle Percival catches her looking and says, "Kingsman fronts as a tailor's shop," as way of explanation. "I'm not actually a tailor, as I think you noticed when I utterly failed at repairing your ballet costumes."

"That," says Roxy, "And I noticed the gun in your kitchen utensils drawer when I was sixteen."

Uncle Percival raises an eyebrow at this. "I suppose I need to hide that better then."

"Better me find it than my mother," she agrees. Uncle Percival gives a noise of agreement and stops at a door on their right. He glances at the silver-haired man behind the counter, who gives a nod of affirmation, before turning the nob and opening the door.

"Heavens," says Uncle Percival, walking into the room with a shake of his head, "I don't even want to think about that. She would have had my head."

Roxy smiles, following Uncle Percival into the fitting room. "So all this time," she says, suddenly curious, "Were you just raising me to be a Kingsman?"

For a moment, Uncle Percival remains silent. He places his hand on the mirror in front of them and the glass underneath his palm blinks green. The room begins to descend and Uncle Percival says, "No. I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but you more or less fell into it on your own. Ballet, martial arts, marksmanship, high marks in school – that was all you. I merely encouraged it."

"You're forgetting about the trip to France and skydiving, Uncle Percival."

"Yes, well, I'll admit teaching you French was a bit of a push on my part," he says. Uncle Percival adjusts the cuff of his jacket. "And, here, I'm just Percival. It's my codename."

He doesn't explain the skydiving, and Roxy's newly gained knowledge that Un- _Percival_ is a spy, combined with his slight fidget at her words, tells her he must be deliberately hiding something from her. Roxy opts not to mention it and instead says, "So, your name is Percival, and your codename is Percival?"

"How incredibly observant of you," he says dryly.

"A bit of a fail in the _code_ part of codename, isn't it?"

Roxy expects her remark to bring out her uncle's wry sense of humor, but it has the opposite effect. Instead, his face clouds over and he suddenly tears his gaze away from Roxy to study the ground. His voice is quieter as he says, "James used to think it was utterly hilarious."

"James?" asks Roxy. She knows she probably shouldn't pursue the topic of conversation making Percival so visibly upset, yet she is unable to quell her curiosity at the unfamiliar name.

"Lancelot."

"Oh." The one-worded answer throws Roxy off guard and she says, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Percival clears his throat. "No, it's quite alright, you didn't know any better."

A moment of silence passes between them with only the sound of the lift going lower and lower to fill the quiet. Roxy bites her lip, feeling uncomfortable with no conversation to pass the time. Her curiosity once again gets the best of her.

"Were you close?"

The lift comes to a stop in front of an enclosed tube of sorts, in a room with concrete floors, brick walls, and nothing else. Percival steps off the elevator and begins walking towards the tube. He stops in front of it and says a tight, "Yes." He sighs and reaches up to adjust his glasses on his nose. "Sorry, Roxy, I can't tell you much else. Perhaps if you qualify for the position I'll tell you more someday."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, don't be sorry," says Percival. "Inquisitiveness is a good trait to have in this business. Leave no stone unturned, remember that," he tells her. "Now, we don't want to be late." He gestures for her to step inside the tube. "After you."

Roxy takes a seat in one of the plaid chairs. Percival sits across from her and pushes a button on his seat. The door closes, and the tube zips off. She can't see much through the darkness of the small window, so she focuses on watching Percival's face, ghastly illuminated by the harsh white lights in the tube. Looking at him now, she can see how her uncle would be a no doubt lethal agent, skilled at whatever mission comes his way. He catches her eye and she gives him a small smile. Percival returns the gesture, but his worry is deep-set in his features.

"Don't worry, uncle, I'll be fine," she assures him.

"You better be, Miss Roxanne. Your parents are expecting me to return you in one piece," he says jokingly. There's an edge to his voice that Roxy can't quite place, but the tube comes to a halt and she misses the opportunity to investigate further.

The door opens slowly, and she can make out another concrete floor. However, unlike the place they entered the tube from, this space has much more to look at. To her left is the largest collection of hard-drives she's ever seen contained in a glass case, while to her right is what appears to be a work station comprised of three large screens, a desk, and a keyboard. Most impressive, however, is the window up ahead, proudly displaying a massive hangar full of different planes and vehicles. Roxy has never been very much into cars or planes, but after seeing Kingsman's impressive collection, she thinks she might be tempted to try out a few.

"This way," says Percival, hardly sparing a glance out the window. He ushers Roxy down a long winding hallway, which has the appearance of an underground tunnel. Up ahead, Roxy can see a bald man with glasses dressed in a sweater and tie, and she tries to remember if he had ever been at any of her martial arts competitions in the past. She thinks he might have, but he gives no indication of recognizing her.

Percival comes to a stop next to the man, and Roxy mimics his stance. She meets the unfamiliar man's eyes and waits for further instruction.

"In you go," says the man.

Roxy glances first at the nondescript metal door to her right, then at the man, and finally back to her uncle. He gives her a small nod, and Roxy reaches for the door, pushing it inwards.

She doesn't know what she was expecting, or if she was expecting anything at all, but the room occupied by a group of chattering boys doesn't surprise her. Each is standing with their chests unconsciously puffed out, trying to size the other candidates up through conversation and barely disguised narrowed glances. Roxy suppresses an eye roll. She places her bag next to an unclaimed bed before taking the time to observe the room.

Simple beds, one blanket and one pillow a piece, are evenly spaced throughout the room. Four showers and two toilets are grouped together at the far end of the room, poorly placed in front of a large mirror nearly the width of the room. It's the bare minimum, to be expected of military-like training, she supposes, and decides that the less there is to distract her from getting the job, the better.

Roxy is drawn from her thoughts and observations as one of the other candidates speaks up. "Are you in the wrong room, sweetheart?"

Sexist assholes, then, great. Roxy already feels the urge to prove herself bubbling to the surface. She knows she'll get the chance later, though, so she shoves it down and focuses on treating the boys with the same respect they are currently showing her.

"Actually, I believe I might be," says Roxy. "I thought this was the Kingsman headquarters, not daycare."

One of the boys in the group gives a low whistle, and the other give nervous laughs. They all say their names, and Roxy commits them all to memory, so that later she can call each of them by name as she waves them goodbye. She doesn't bother to introduce herself, but continues to stand at the edge of their group, listening as they introduce each other and brag about everything from their grades in university to their skills on the football team. Roxy hardly thinks Kingsman cares about the number of goals Digby scored in his last match, although if bragging about it keeps him distracted from the real task at hand, she would love for him to continue.

Candidates begin to trickle in from that point on, and Roxy introduces to herself to the only other girl that enters the room. She can now count seven other candidates in the room, eight with herself included, still all male candidates except for her and Amelia. Roxy is about to ask if this is it, if they're just going to sit around for the rest of the day and wait for further instruction, when the door opens again.

The boy that walks in is the complete opposite of every other candidate in the room.  He's wearing a navy cap and gray striped polo – by far the most under-dressed when compared to the blazers and ties of the other boys in the room – and he walks with what can only be described as a swagger. She tries to take a moment to size him up as she had the other candidates, but her attention is drawn to the man in the sweater vest entering behind him.

"Fall in," says the man.

Roxy sees the boy who just entered spare a glance over his shoulder, first at the man, and then at the door, as if he is looking for someone – the agent who proposed him, likely. She wonders what kind of Kingsman would propose this boy, and what sort of relationship they might have to warrant the longing still so clearly written on his face. The boy's face quickly morphs into confusion, however, as he positions himself next to Roxy and awkwardly attempts to copy the stance of other candidates.

"My name is Merlin," the man – Merlin – is saying, from his position in front of them. "You are about to embark on what is probably the most dangerous job interview in the world. One of you – and only one of you – will become the next Lancelot."

Roxy raises her chin a bit. She knows she's qualified for the position. Then again, likely so is every other candidate in the room. Roxy promises herself then and there that she will do whatever it takes to become the next Lancelot, to make her uncle proud. Plus, she can't help but admit that the job of international agent has a nice ring to it, and holds all of the excitement and skill she's been seeking in a career.

Merlin walks over to one of the beds – hers, she notes, and wonders if that carries any weight – and picks up the body bag at the end of it. "Can anybody tell me what this is?"

Roxy raises her hand. It's a body bag, of course. A few scenarios race through her head as she tries to figure out why they're being given such a thing, and she nearly misses the tall brunette standing next to her – Charlie, if she remembers correctly – saying, "Body bag, sir."

"Charlie, isn't it?" says Merlin. Roxy mentally praises herself for learning her competitors' names so quickly.

"Yes, sir."

She glances up at Charlie, watches him shift his weight from side to side, evidently proud of himself for answering such a simple question. Unimpressed, she focuses back on Merlin.

"Good. In a moment, you will each collect a body bag. You will write your name on that bag. You will write the details of your next of kin on that bag. This represents your acknowledgement of the risks you are about to face, as well as your agreement to strict confidentiality. Which, incidentally if you break, will result in you, and your next of kin, being in that bag. Is that understood?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the boy to her left look at the rest of the candidates incredulously. Her interest is piqued by his reaction, and Roxy decides that she wants to know this boy better, the boy who seems so startled at the extreme measures mentioned. He's different from the other candidates, she can tell, and while part of her brain is saying that it's just strategy, deep down Roxy thinks that in any other circumstances, she might actually like to be the boy's friend. The boy, who, still boggling at Merlin's comment, returns to staring at Merlin with wide-eyes, as if the man has grown a second head.

Roxy nods along with the rest of the candidates, save for the boy in mention, and Merlin says, "Excellent. Fall out." With that, he exits the room, leaving the candidates to mill amongst themselves.

She is the first to break formation, striding over to her bed with purpose. Roxy briefly entertains the idea of putting down Percival as her next of kin, just out of curiosity of how the Kingsman (her uncle included) would react, but she knows she ought to just put down her parents' names. She is about to grab the body bag, write the information required, and return to the solidarity of watching the rest of the candidates interact, when she makes the split-second decision to go with her gut and befriend the boy.

Sticking out her hand, Roxy says, "Roxanne, but call me Roxy."

The boy turns his head from whoever or whatever he had been looking at, and glances down at her hand. He grasps it, and with a thick accent says, "I'm Eggsy."

"Eggy?" she asks, still shaking his hand.

"No, Eggsy," says the boy, Eggsy, enunciating the word more clearly now.

She raises her eyebrows in recognition. Seeing Charlie approaching Eggsy from behind, Roxy releases Eggsy's hand and takes a step back. The smirk on Charlie's face gives his intentions away before he even has the chance to taunt, "Eggy? And where did they dig you up?"

"You know we aren't allowed to discuss who proposed us," she cuts in, eager to avoid another pissing match between the male candidates.

"No need to bite his head off," says Digby, coming to stand at Charlie's side. "Charlie's only making conversation. Right, Charlie?"

Roxy has a thousand insults on the tip of her tongue such as, _maybe we should make conversation about that horrendous tie of yours_ , but she sits down on the bed and lets Eggsy handle the situation. She must admit, she's curious to see how he'll hold his own in the group, or if he'll flounder and sink into the background like a few of the other candidates are already doing. Charlie and his cronies begin mockingly quizzing Eggsy about his schooling, and she hears Rufus mention something about Eggsy serving him at a McDonalds. _Could these men get any more childish?_ she wonders.

She is about to jump in and tell Charlie and his cronies to back off when Eggsy leans on his bedframe, crossing his arms, and says, "No. But if I had, I'd have given you an extra helping of secret sauce."

Roxy smiles to herself as Eggsy mimes jerking off with his hand. She decides that, yes, she definitely does want Eggsy as her friend, because if his poor taste in jokes and excellent comebacks are any indication, he'll at least make the selection process amusing, if nothing else.

"Definitely St. Andrews," Charlie mutters, and Rufus and Digby laugh.

"Just ignore them," says Roxy, writing on her body bag.

The other female candidate walks over and asks, "Need a pen?"

"Cheers," says Eggsy, taking the offered pen.

"Amelia, isn't it?" Roxy asks. Amelia gives a small nod. "Amelia, Eggsy."

"Hi Eggsy," says Amelia, taking Eggsy's hand. She squeezes it firmly rather than shaking it, still holding on tightly as she says, "Don't take any notice of those guys."

"That's what I told him," agrees Roxy. Amelia returns to her own bed, but Eggsy is staring at the body bag as if it's already holding a corpse, so she says, "It's just scare tactics. Classic army technique. No one's gonna die."

Charlie and his cronies let out an obnoxious laugh. Roxy is tempted to just punch them then and there and get that out of the way. Instead, she consoles herself with the knowledge that wiping the floor with them during training will bruise their egos rather than just their face. Just the thought of it gives her a small sense of satisfaction.

That, and the glee in Eggsy's eyes as he says, "Shame."

The happiness falls from Eggsy's face almost immediately as he re-focuses on the body bag. He fills in his name and blood type with no hesitation, followed by a pause, and then a quick scribble in the next of kin section. His hand shakes as he writes the name, making it unreadable to Roxy's secretive glances.

With nothing else to do other than socialize, Roxy decides to take the time to get to know Eggsy better. Having already had time to assess the other candidates, she chalks most of the other males up to being preppy rich kids sliding by at their university of choice by the grease of their parents' money. Eggsy doesn't even come close to fitting that category.

Roxy sits on her bed, watching as Eggsy removes his cap and hands it on the bedpost. He runs a hand through his hair while Roxy flounders for a conversation starter. Eggsy beats her to it.

"So what about you then, Oxford or Cambridge?"

"Oxford," answers Roxy, a bit sheepishly. "I visited it as a little girl with my uncle, and I had my sights set on it ever since. What about you?"

Eggsy shrugs and places his hat back on his head. "Not big on school. Joined the Marines instead." Eggsy brings his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Quit the Marines, too."

He doesn't offer much more than that so Roxy decides to change the subject to something a bit more neutral. "Excited for training?"

"Yeah," says Eggsy, "Got a few uses for the things they might teach us." 

Roxy raises an eyebrow – the way Eggsy says it sounds protective, and perhaps a bit illegal. He props his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands and watches Roxy intently. She stares back, trying to get a read on Eggsy and coming up short. Roxy crosses her legs on the bed.

"I suppose that's true. There are a few people I wouldn't mind messing with."

"Now you're talking," Eggsy says with a wide grin. He sits up straighter on the bed, leans forward a bit. "Can't wait to stick it to Dean, the way he's been-"  Eggsy stops his sentence suddenly. "Forget I said that."

"Said what?"

Eggsy gives her a grateful smile for letting the topic drop, but Roxy makes a mental note to find out who Dean is at a later date.

"So what do you think they _will_ teach us?" she asks.

Personally, Roxy is hoping she'll learn more sleight-of-hand, like the tricks Percival would sometimes indulge her with at family gatherings under the guise of "magic tricks," tricks she now knew were related to his career. Conversely, she's also hoping they _won't_ be teaching them about skydiving. It had been fun when she had gone with friends, but Roxy isn't eager to repeat the experience anytime soon. Once in a lifetime was enough for her, thank you very much.

"A lot of things, probably," says Eggsy.  He gives Roxy another grin, and his face adapts a wistful expression as he continues talking. "I really hope they show us how to have a proper bar fight, though. When Ha-" Eggsy cuts himself off and clears his throat awkwardly. "Right, uh, we aren't allowed to talk about who proposed us. Sorry."

Eggsy's mention of a bar fight alongside the mention of the man who proposed him piques Roxy's interest. They might not be allowed to discuss _who_ proposed them, but Roxy really is beginning to wonder what brought Eggsy here in the first place. She gets the impression it might be a bit more interesting than, "My uncle may or may not have subtly been training me since I was six."

Roxy purses her lips and gives a small smile. "Maybe just one story wouldn't hurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own, and constructive criticism is extremely welcome! 
> 
>  
> 
> **Temporarily on hold! Not sure when I'll return to this, sorry! :(**
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [eggsyunwinhart](http://eggsyunwinhart.tumblr.com)!


End file.
